Routine Matters
by Mockorange7
Summary: Even now, Shuichi still walks home. A bit of angsty fluff, or fluffy angst. Y/S.
1. Chapter 1

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Routine Matters

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(1) Disclaimer: Not mine, not purported to be mine. Just borrowing.

(2) Summary: Fluff. Dash of angst. Um. Otherwise, I'm not so sure yet.

(3) Warning: Umm ... probably rated M? I don't know. Nothing graphic. Yuki/Shuichi pairing. Unbeta'd, and I hate spell check, but anyway ...

(4) I adore feedback, both critical or gushing. I don't know this fandom at all--but since I started this, I have now found bits of the manga online, and liked the fandom better before. So I am cheerfully ignoring large sections of manga canon, including most of Volume 2, because I have issues with it and it disturbs me. In any event, I _know _I've been reckless in posting, so will appreciate honest criticism--this scene got stuck in my head, and I felt obliged to dash it off to make it go away. In any event, I had fun writing it, and hope you'll have fun reading it--does fic always need to be any more than that?

* * *

It had been two years.

It had been two years, but he still hated walking home by himself. Sheer stubborness, however, kept him from admitting it, kept him from using a car service, even though he could well afford it, and Yuki's nervousness kept him from driving himself. He hated driving anyway, even in the very pretty pink car the label had gotten him. He grinned. They wanted him to maintain a certain image, and he kept messing it up.

So he still walked home—with Hiro when he could, part way with Suguru when it was convenient, and otherwise ... he walked alone. He'd always been independent, and he hadn't been about to let anything change that. Never had.

He'd screamed it at Yuki, once, when the blond was being unreasonable. He couldn't live in a bubble just because everything made Yuki anxious. He just ... he couldn't.

And it had been two years, anyway.

It was raining, a little, that night. They'd practiced late, and not because of K—but because he'd insisted, because he'd wanted this last song, which he'd been working on for weeks—to sound just right, to sound just so. It was about Yuki—of course it was about Yuki—but this one ... this one had to be done just right. His bandmates teased him, telling him he said that about all the songs he wrote, but they were wrong—this one was different.

They were all different, though, each of them, and they all had to be done right.

So he'd pushed them, and they had practiced, long into the night, until his voice rasped, until his throat had become so sore that K had finally shut them down, threatening to shoot anyone or anything that stayed past another ten minutes.

They'd cleared out, all of them leaving with alacrity. He'd been the last one left, but a glare from K had motivated him and so he'd ... he'd started walking home.

He should never have cut through the alley, even though he'd always done it, even though he'd done it for a lot longer than two years. The neighbourhood here had changed over the years, and now ... even though it was only three blocks from the apartment he now shared with Yuki, even though he had a cell phone in his pocket and wasn't as defenceless as he looked ... even though all of these things were true, it didn't matter.

He was cornered. There were two men, both much larger than he, and he ... he was frozen.

One of them held a gun.

They only wanted to rob him, in the end. Make him give them his wallet, and his watch, and his rings. Make him give them his fancy shoes, his designer leather belt, his cell phone and his MP3 player.

He was too frozen to move, and they were impatient. More impatient than Yuki at his worst, nervous and desperate and angry, and so when he continued to stand there, not making any move to give them what they wanted, not answering their questions or demands, one of them hit him. On the head, with the butt of the gun, over one eye, leaving a bleeding gash on Shuichi's forehead; making him stumble, slipping on the slick wet surface; making him fall, hard to the ground, nothing to break his fall but bones and concrete. They held him down, then, in a shallow dirty puddle filled with cigarette butts and half eaten pocky and empty candy wrappers, and he would have screamed, except, except, he wasn't allowed to, they'd hurt Yuki if he screamed, and so he had to let them, had to ...

He fought them anyway, because he couldn't help, suddenly, couldn't force himself not to—white panic across his vision, through his brain, screaming in his head so loud he couldn't hear anything else, but not aloud, can't make a sound, as they reached for him—but they only put their hands in his pocket for his wallet, didn't touch the buttons of his jeans; only held his ankle still to remove the shoes, didn't pull on the denim; only held his arm still long enough to strip off his watch. His rings they left alone, including the one Yuki had given him, his flailing arms a deterrent—thank the gods, thank the gods, because if he'd lost it, Yuki would have seen, Yuki would have known, and how could he explain this, any of this, to Yuki, who must never know?—their voices disgusted, remarking on how this was too much work, stupid little girly boy, why couldn't this be as easy as it used to be, why hadn't they just found an actual girl, too much attention, just leave it, this had already taken too long ... they kicked him as they left, twice and hard, steel-toed leather boots easily finding soft flesh and brittle bone which all too easily gave way to the onslaught.

And then they were gone, and there was only the silence of Tokyo at 2 a.m. at night, which wasn't very silent at all, but much, much better than the screaming. And Shuichi lay there, rolled into a ball, reminding himself of who and where he was—trying to focus, and wondering if he could move. They'd robbed him. This wasn't ... and he wasn't ... He couldn't think straight, everything was blurry, and he was pretty sure he had a broken rib, maybe two, but ... He really, really wanted to go home.

The entire interruption to his walk home had taken no more than ten minutes, he was pretty sure, even if he couldn't check his watch. Not that Yuki was waiting, but if Yuki had called K, precipitating the manager ending their rehearsal—and sometimes he did--he wouldn't even be that late.

But Yuki trusted him, and he would not have minded, not have worried if Shuichi had wanted to stop for a drink after, or if he'd gone to a club for a bit. If Yuki had wanted anything, he'd have called Shuichi on the cell phone he no longer had.

Shuichi gritted his teeth, and pulled himself up, palm flat, nails clawing at the rough brick of the wall beside him. He was wet, and cold, and shivering. The pain he wouldn't think about, although his vision blurred; made it hard to see, hard to walk. He emerged onto the street, and the bright lights made him nauseous, made him dizzy. After three steps, he couldn't control it, and threw up all over the tarmac, thankful that no one was around, knowing that anyone that was would attribute his behaviour to too much drink, too much partying. It was, after all, almost 3 a.m. on a Saturday night, and he was Shindou Shuichi—young, good-looking, rich and famous rock star, what else did he have to do with his time?

He kept walking.

He thought, briefly, about calling someone to come get him—Hiro, maybe, but he didn't want Hiro, not right now, and he had no money, and no cell. He thought that there must be something else he could do, but he couldn't think of what that could be. He supposed maybe he should go to the hospital—that would be the smart, responsible thing to do, but Yuki had never accused him of being smart and responsible, and they'd want to touch him and ask questions and demand answers, and he couldn't take very much right now.

It took a long, long time to get home.

The doorman's eyes widened when he saw him. "Shindou-san!" he exclaimed, horrified, "would you like me to ... "

But Shuichi just walked past him. If he stopped now, he wouldn't be able to start again; the doorman should have been used to him returning late by now, and the elevator was just so close ...

The doors were miraculously open and the elevator empty and he got in, nearly fell in, and couldn't remember, suddenly, what floor he was on, and he wanted to cry. He ... it came back to him then, and he pushed the button, and felt the elevator move.

He was sick again in the elevator, but didn't care. Yuki had lived here for a long time, and he'd never been sick in the common areas, ever, and neither had Shuichi since he'd come. Despite his reputation—rock star, pop star, glamourous late nights and parties. So unlike the truth. In any case, they could bill him, and he was sure they would.

The apartment, when he entered--fumbling with the entry code, hand moving automatically over the numbers--was warm and dark and quiet. It was home, and just entering made him feel so, so much better.

Safe.

He guessed that Yuki was sleeping. It was late, and Yuki had been working hard on his latest novel—a sequel, which Yuki hated, because he had gotten roped in somehow even though he'd always said he would never write one, and the deadline was looming and making him anxious. Shuichi just hoped Yuki had remembered to eat something before he'd slept.

So he lay down on the couch, even though over the years, he'd taken to sneaking into Yuki's bed even late at night, whenever he wanted, and even though over the days and months, Yuki had stopped minding and started smiling when he did that, even in his sleep.

But tonight he couldn't bear to be touched, and everything hurt and he didn't think he had the energy to take any more steps than he needed to right then. Even to Yuki. Even by Yuki.

What he really wanted was a bath, really very badly, but the sound of the shower and the disruption to the usual routine would alarm Yuki, and Shuichi couldn't bear questions, couldn't bear anything but to sleep and wake up and have everything be ok in the morning.

He'd take a shower, then, before Yuki woke up, and everything would be ok.

Everything would be ok.

* * *

Yuki's voice was saying something.

He couldn't figure out what Yuki's voice was saying, and tried to turn away from the sound, but was prevented by a firm hand. Was he late for work? And why was it so bright in here?

He opened his eyes, and saw Yuki's face blurring before him, along with the face of Tohma and someone else he didn't know.

"Shuichi?" Yuki's eyes were dark and anxious and concerned, and Shuichi tried to reach out toward him, but was stopped by a stab of pain so intense it made him cry out. The Yuki-blur moved away.

"Can I move him?" Shuichi heard in Yuki's voice, and a voice he didn't recognize, saying, "No, better not, not before I examine him." The face of the man he didn't know drifted into view again, along with Yuki's behind him. "Shindou-san, I don't think you're feeling very well. Could you tell us what happened?"

"Nothing," Shuichi tried to say, but his voice was no stronger than a whisper, and immediately he saw Yuki start to glare angrily at him. But he really couldn't remember how he came here, and what was happening—he just wanted to go back to sleep. He was so tired. Surely it mustn't be that late, what day was it, anyway?

"Am I late for work already?"

Yuki's face came back into view, his features still set into the lines of a scowl, and while his voice was harsh, the words were not angry. "No, no brat. You rest for now, I already called K. Let the doctor look at you, while I go talk to Tohma, ok?"

He nodded, wanting to please Yuki, but not really sure he wanted the doctor touching him either. He just wanted to sleep.

What he wanted never mattered that much, most of the time, though.

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_A/N: More fluff in Chapter 2!_


	2. Chapter 2

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Routine Matters: Chapter 2

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After a cursory exam, the doctor had Eiri and Tohma carry Shuichi into the bedroom, and then kicked them out and closed the door. Eiri had spent the time standing in his kitchen chain-smoking, while Tohma sat and drank his way through a couple of Eiri's imported beers, until the doctor came out again and calmly began packing his bag on the kitchen table, ignoring the frantic look on Eiri's face. In the stoic doctor's defence however, to the untrained eye, Eiri looked mostly pissed off, and had been muttering something about hoping the doctor had been careful not to get any blood on the sheets.

"He's resting, and I gave him something for the pain, and to keep him quiet. He's a little agitated, and so you can give him this every four hours, or as needed. Without tests—and unfortunately he's been quite clear he has no intention of going to the hospital for any purpose--it doesn't look too bad—there's a couple of cracked ribs, which I've taped, and nothing much more to do for that, and the concussion. Just monitor him for that, wake him every two hours and make sure he's coherent. Otherwise, just some bruises and scrapes, and a touch of fever. No restrictions on food or activity—just let him do what he likes, and what he can manage. From what you tell me, and from his state, I'd guess this was just your garden-variety mugging. He was able to tell me that they took his shoes, and his cell, watch and wallet. You'll have to cancel his cards, standard stuff. You should report it to the police, but there doesn't seem to be much else to be done. Make an appointment in a couple of days, but call me if there's any change, if he becomes confused or the fever goes up much past 38 degrees, or anything else unusual."

"Thank you, Eto-san." Tohma, ever suave and polite, when Eiri said nothing, and the silence became awkward.

"I hope he recovers quickly, poor boy. One more thing, Uesugi-san—he was very concerned that you would be angry with him, and you should maybe speak with him about that. Otherwise, he is young and in generally good health, and he should recover quickly."

"Thank you for coming so quickly," Eiri finally said, numbly. Ever since he'd found a bleeding, barely responsive and shivering Shuichi on the couch the world had seemed to be spinning. He'd had to call Tohma to figure out what to do, his hands shaking so hard he'd barely been able to hold the phone, and he'd downed an extra does of his anti-anxiety pills, even though in the last year he'd been tapering off the medication. He was thankful that Tohma had come, immediately, without asking any questions. He'd just come.

He walked into the bedroom after closing the door behind the doctor, leaving Tohma still nursing his beer in the kitchen.

Shuichi was not asleep. Glazed violet eyes stared steadily at Eiri, unnerving him. "You're supposed to be resting, brat," said Eiri, awkwardly, hoping he didn't sound awkward. He didn't know what to say. All he did know was that he wanted to touch the boy for himself, reassure himself that he was real, and so he moved slowly towards the bed.

Shuichi didn't say anything, just kept watching him with those glittering, anxious eyes.

Eiri sat down on the side of the bed, reached down and stroked the soft pink hair, ran fingertips across the too-pale cheeks. The violet eyes closed, almost reluctantly, and he could see Shuichi take a shuddering breath and relax. "Go to sleep, idiot", he whispered, brushing a kiss across the boy's sweaty forehead, wincing as his lips hit the edge of the rough bandage.

"I need a shower, Yuki, I'm sorry, you'll have to change the sheets, I was going to take one before you woke up ... "

"It's ok, brat, you can have one later."

"I didn't mean to sleep so late ..."

"It's ok," he repeated. "You can worry about it later. Go to sleep now."

"Yuki? Are you ..."

But Shuichi never finished the sentence before the drugs and pain dragged him away.

Eiri sighed. He'd forgotten to reassure the idiot that he wasn't angry with him. How could he be? Idiot.

Life with Shuichi never did run smoothly.

* * *

"Yuuukiii ... I'm feeling fine! I don't know why ..."

"Shut up brat. Drink your soup."

"But Yyyuuukkiii ..."

Eiri sighed, and tried to rub away the headache. Shuichi had mostly slept the first day, thanks to the little pink pills the doctor had provided, and once he'd been reassured that Eiri wasn't mad at him and he hadn't done anything wrong—even though Eiri had no idea what in fact had happened, Shuichi remaining short on details, and wondered, had the kid been wandering around in alleys again? He'd told him over and over and over that he should take a service home and failing that, call him and he'd come and get him—he had mostly settled down and slept. But despite the doctor's reassuring words, Shuichi hadn't seemed to improve much, to Eiri's worried eye.

Shuichi was still running a fever, was still in a fair amount of pain, continued to complain of headache, and had absolutely no appetite. All his whining was just a distraction—and a transparent distraction, at that--to get Eiri to take away the lunch he'd brought the boy, but Eiri, after indulging Shuichi for the first full day, was starting to put his foot down. Shuichi, who normally ate like there was no tomorrow, had barely managed to eat anything since the incident—and what he had, he hadn't managed to keep down. Indulging him further wasn't an option, and Eiri was just glad that they had an appointment at the clinic the following morning.

Shuichi's voice broke into his thoughts. "Yuki? I don't feel ... I'm sorry, it was really good, but ..."

Eiri sighed, and went to go get a garbage bag.

* * *

"Yuuuukkkiiii ..."

"What do you want now, idiot?" Eiri snapped. Although his voice was harsh, the fingers running through the soft pink hair were tender. But he'd never let anyone else see it, or admit it, aloud. Yuki Eiri didn't do tender.

Eiri's lips twitched in what Shuichi had come to recognize as a smile as Shuichi leaned into the touch. "Nothing. You could go write or something, if you want." Shuichi, still too pale and looking uncharacteristically drained, blinked up at Eiri, slowly, his eyes glittering fever-bright.

"I write when I want to write, idiot. Don't tell me what to do." He sat on the side of the bed, still gently stroking his lover's hair, until Shuichi grunted and moved away. Shuichi was tired and Shuichi had never liked being touched while he slept, or any time he didn't really instigate or expect it. Eiri couldn't remember now if that had always been the case, or a legacy of Aizawa, but it didn't matter. Eiri moved away. "If you need something, call me. Don't get up." It was as much threat as it was instruction. Weak as Shuichi was, he didn't want the little idiot trying to do things on his own and hurting himself, and he knew Shuichi would try. While Shu kept saying how glad he was whenever Eiri showed signs of worrying or caring about him, too much and Shuichi would start to find ways to get re-direct Eiri's attention elsewhere. Deep down, Shuichi's independent nature rebelled against being fussed over or limited in any way. But this time, he'd just have to put up with it. If Eiri found the brat wandering around—well, that would just piss Eiri off even more than he already was.

And Eiri was, in truth, highly pissed. He was trying not to take it out on Shuichi—yet--because Shuichi was sick and hurt, and while too often Eiri had taken out his anger and irritation on Shuichi just because he knew he could, and because Shuichi never fought back—and even though this time, the source of Eiri's anger and upset was Shuichi himself--he'd learnt, and tried, over the years, to stop doing that. It was a struggle, because when all was said and done, Eiri was pretty selfish, and pretty lazy, and it was just so easy to let himself vent all his frustrations on Shuichi, when he knew Shuichi wouldn't later hold it against him. Because unlike the rest of the world, Shuichi wasn't like that.

Shuichi loved him.

And the complete and utter idiot had almost gotten himself killed. Again. Rage, red and bright, washed over him, and he had to control himself, control the urge to beat Shuichi and yell at him for putting himself at risk like that, for being so selfish as to not see how much he had scared Yuki, how stupid and idiotic and selfish and unthinking ...

Eiri stood up abruptly.

He really needed some air.

Shuichi looked up.

It was ironic howit was the concern in Shuichi's voice—even now concerned only about his Yuki--thatultimately chased him out of the room.

* * *

"Yyyyyuuuukkiii ... I'm bored."

"I'm trying to work, brat. Go to sleep."

"Plllleeeassse, could I just go sit on the couch, maybe watch some TV?"

"Even think about getting out of that bed and I will hurt you."

"Just for a little while? Please?"

"No."

"But Yuuuukiiii ..."

"You are the idiot who got himself mugged, now deal."

Silence. Shuichi looked hurt, and awfully guilty. Eiri used this to his advantage.

"You never really told me what happened, actually."

"I ... promise you won't be mad?"

"Kind of hard if I don't know what you've done, idiot."

"I ... you know I still walk home, right?"

"I've told you how stupid that is." Eiri said automatically, and then paused, and then said slowly, as it dawned on him. "You didn't, did you? Shuichi. Tell me you didn't walk home at one in the morning."

"It was closer to two," Shuichi mumbled.

"WHAT?" A pause. "You walked back afterwards, too, didn't you?"

Then, in a small voice, "How ... how did you know that?"

"I'm not the idiot here. Why the hell didn't you call me?"

"They took my cell phone."

"SHUICHI! We've been over this, you complete and brainless idiot! You are famous, you are rich, you are damned good looking, any number of people could ... I thought you'd learnt your lesson when Aizawa ..."

Shuichi went chalk white, uncharacteristically missing the compliment in the middle of the rant entirely, and Eiri wanted to snatch the words back.

"I didn't mean it was your fault, Shuichi. I didn't mean that," he repeated quietly. "I only ... it would disrupt my schedule if you were to end up in the hospital. Not that this ... isn't plenty disruptive too," he snapped. "And what about your band? And your fans? You have an obligation to them, too, you know."

Shuichi didn't mention the part where he cut through the alley. Yuki seemed to be managing a fine lecture without ...

"And I bet you cut through that stupid alley too." Eiri sighed, and closed his eyes.

"Are ... are you mad?"

"What do you think?"

More silence. Then ... "I know you said not to do that."

"But you did anyway."

"I know. I ... saved the rings, Yuki. I didn't let them take my rings. I still have the one you gave me." There was a note of hopeful pride in Shuichi's voice, and looking at Shu, who looked so small and battered and sick and unlike himself, Eiri didn't have the heart to scold the brat, to tell him he didn't care about the damn ring. At all.

"Idiot. Look at you. You can't even sit up. And you forgot to take your last dose of pain meds, I bet." Or he'd forgotten to give it to him. Some caretaker he was. No wonder the brat couldn't sleep, thought Eiri, suddenly noting the lines of pain across Shuichi's paper-white, visibly wilting face. Maybe TV _would_ distract him for a while.

"Fine. You can watch. But only for a half hour, and not your stupid videos. They give me a headache." Truth was, he was worried about all those flashing lights while Shuichi recovered from what looked like a fairly severe concussion. Not that the kid would tell him, but he suspected Shuichi's headache was back too. But Shu had brightened anyway, looking as if Eiri had just promised him paradise or a genie in a bottle, and speaking of ... that would work well for his next chapter ...

"You better eat your dinner while you watch anyway, so I don't waste more time than I have."

Shuichi turned an interesting shade of green at the suggestion of food. It was almost amusing. "Please Yuki, I hate those shrimp noodles from Midori's, and they are so expensive so there's not point wasting them, maybe I could order something later?" Which was such a blatant and obvious lie, Eiri wasn't sure why he'd even bothered. Shuichi loved those noodles, as they both knew. In fact, Eiri had made Tohma pick them up on his way to work that morning specially, because he'd known that. And Tohma had, not just because Yuki had asked—but because he'd known that too, and Shuichi was one of NG's most valuable talents right now. A great deal of money rode on Shuichi's golden voice.

"Ok, Yuki?"

Eiri sighed, hating himself, and knowing he was going to give in anyway. Even though he shouldn't.

Whatever.

He fed the boy some meds, ignoring Shuichi's protests that he was fine, and carried Shuichi to the couch, settling him carefully down on the pillows, trying not to jostle him too much. Shuichi's teeth were gritted, and his forehead beaded with sweat, although he tried to smile and look cheerful and thanked Eiri profusely in a horrible gasping voice. "Shut up and be quiet, brat," snapped Eiri, as he tucked blankets and pillows around his brat, brushing hair off Shuichi's face in a discreet attempt to check temp. Still hot. Damn.

He sat beside Shuichi on the couch, so Shu was half reclining against him, propped up by his body so he could watch easily. It was dark outside, the blinds open to the sparkling lights of Tokyo beyond. Eiri stripped off the blankets, complaining loudly about the heat in the room; stating flatly that if he was expected to sit there, he was damned if he was going to swelter just because Shu was an idiot. He was worried about the climbing fever.

"You'll sit with me?" Despite the heat radiating off his skin, Shuichi was shivering in the air conditioned room. But he didn't complain, distracted by the well-calculated treat of having Eiri watch TV with him. The deadline could go to hell.

"Someone needs to make sure you don't watch those damned music vids. And you're going to eat something later, you know."

Shuichi didn't say anything, just burrowed his head further into Eiri's shirt, sighing contentedly.

Within ten minutes, his little lover was deep asleep. Yuki sat for a while, the sound of the TV turned off in favour of listening to Shuichi breathe, while the lights of Tokyo glittered before them.

* * *

_A/N: Yes, the fluffy conclusion awaits in the as-yet only half-written Chapter 3 ..._


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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(1) Disclaimer: As in Chapter 1--Still not mine, not purported to be mine. Just borrowing.

(2) Still pure unadulterated, unbeta'd and un-really-thought-about fluff. Sometimes, I like much fluff, and I was in the mood for some tonight, and then I remembered I started and never finished this fic, ages ago. Having said that, don't be looking for substance--not here, anyway, and there's still one more chapter to go.

(3) Warning: Still about an M. Nothing graphic, but Yuki uses profanity profusely. I certainly can't make him stop. I mean, I tried, once, but--the man is _mean_. And then he swore more, just to be contrary. And don't even get me started on the smoking. Men. (Even entirely imaginary ones).

* * *

Shuichi sat up quietly, slipping noiselessly to the floor. Yuki had been keeping a close eye on him, but even he couldn't ignore his work forever, and so Shuichi was hoping for a few minutes to grab the shower that he'd been wanting ever since he'd limped home. Plus, Yuki had made him an appointment at the studio's private clinic today, and he felt too disgusting to possibly put on a clean shirt and go out in public without getting clean, first.

He grabbed the bed post while the room swirled around him as he stood for the first time in two days, and willed the dizziness to pass. He'd never hear the end of it if he fell over—and more importantly, he'd never get that shower. He really, really wanted that shower.

But getting to the bathroom took a frustratingly long time, even if it was an ensuite, even if it was just across the room. Every step jolted the cracked ribs, exacerbating the nausea and dizziness he'd already been battling. And he was uselessly weak. But he'd always been too stubborn for his own good, and so he made it to the bathroom, managed to undress, and dragged himself into their large, newly renovated shower enclosure just fine. Shuichi sighed as he turned on the taps, part relief, part victory—and part contentment. He loved this shower unit.

Of course, he hadn't thought things through all that well. The bandages taping his ribs became sodden and useless, and the pounding water and heat made him even dizzier—not to mention the pain as the water hit places sore and bruised. After a minutes, he could not longer stand and sank down to sit on the expensive granite floor, shivering and trying desperately not to pass out …

"Fuck! Are you trying to _hide_ from me now? Did you think I wouldn't hear the shower? Are you really that stupid?"

… and that's how Yuki, who had of course heard the water, found him. Shuichi supposed the insults would be more biting and the yells more impressive if he could actually hear all of them, rather than every third word as he clung to consciousness through nothing more than sheer will. He _wanted_ to say no, tell Yuki he wasn't trying to hide, he just needed a moment, and had really wanted a shower--but all he could actually do was sit there and shiver, and try not to pass out or throw up or both.

Yuki was turning off the water and lifting him out, wrapping him in something soft and warm. A towel. Right.

"I'm sorry Yuki," he managed to say. _It was a … bad idea, but I just needed to get clean. You're right, you're … always right. I'm sorry I didn't listen, just don't be mad …_

Then he was lying on something flat, and realized he was back in bed. But then Yuki was trying to sit him up, he wasn't sure why, and it triggered the nausea again, suddenly and he wasn't able to warn Yuki before he was throwing up all over himself, again, and now he wanted to cry, because he'd _just_ had a shower, and all that effort was wasted now … and then everything after that was a blur until he was lying down again, and the lights were dim and the room was quiet and sleep was a dark, comforting void.

* * *

Eiri was in the kitchen, having a smoke and a much-needed drink, and feeling slightly guilty about it--for Shuichi's sake, he tried not to smoke in the apartment, anymore. But he was shaking, and needed the release--the craving was too much to deal with, on top of everything else. The morning was now effectively shot. He should've offered the brat a bath, but he was so behind on his work after two days of catering to an ill and injured Shuichi, and the worry that came with it, and he was so relieved that his lover had seemed slightly better that morning—that … well, he'd left him sleeping, closed the door, and trusted Shuichi not to do anything stupid.

Of _course_ that meant that disaster would strike. Or, more accurately, Shuichi would do something momentously moronic.

The worst part about it was that it was clear that all the yelling and cursing in the world was lost on the brat. Which meant that he was still pissed off as hell at the idiot right now, with no place to vent his rage. If Shuichi hadn't been so pathetic—and completely out of it—he'd have made sure Shuichi had known it. As it was, the brat was mumbling something about a bad idea being right, and he might have apologized at one point, but Eiri wasn't really sure Shuichi had any idea what he was saying, so he mostly ignored the idiot.

Until, of course, he'd thrown up all over both of them when Eiri'd tried to re-tape the ribs. And now _he_ needed a shower, because the moron had managed to get Eiri as well as himself when he upchucked.

No way was he getting the brat to the clinic that day. Or to the police station—he'd also said he'd take Shuichi in for a statement, when he was feeling better, and had hoped to do that today. The cops had come to the house, and had had a brief word with Shuichi earlier, but they hadn't been able to get much in the way of coherency or clear detail.

So. He'd call the doctor back here, and if he thought it was necessary, have Tohma arrange it with the hospital. The brat would protest—Shuichi did not do well in hospitals, which is why Eiri had tried to care for him at home--but he was worried. Shuichi wasn't getting better—the normally endless pit was barely eating or even drinking, for that matter--and required a lot more time and care than Eiri could properly manage.

Because yes, he acknowledged to himself that he was a little overwhelmed and, had Shuichi asked, he'd have said no to the bath that morning. He had work to do, and the thought of getting the other man in and out of the bath—and it would have had to be a bath, a shower had been a silly idea—was something there had just seemed to be no time for. Eiri had wanted to get a chapter completed before the appointment later that morning—neither of which would now be happening. Damn the stubborn brat. He'd always underestimated how impulsive—and persistent--Shuichi could be.

Which was, he had to admit, more blessing for the most part than curse. Without that persistence and disregard of what normal people would consider common sense, there was no way he'd still be with the brat today. And for that, he could only be grateful.

Then Eiri's eyes narrowed. There was noise. A voice. From the bedroom. The bedroom where Shuichi was supposed to be resting. Quietly.

"No … I … I'm very sorry, Sakano-san, yes, I know studio time is expensive … and yes, maybe, my throat's a little sore, I don't think … yes, I'm really sorry, I know our recording time is very … yes, I know this may delay the release … I'm really sorry … maybe I could ask Yuki if I could …"

Eiri walked in, took one look, and snatched the phone out of Shuichi's hand.

"No. Shuichi will _not _be in. Good-bye."

* * *

Of course, the matter didn't end there. Hiro had a key to the apartment, which meant when Eiri emerged from his office later that evening, he again heard noise from the bedroom—but this time, there was more than just Shuichi's voice. It appeared they had visitors. Unwanted visitors, that hadn't even bothered to knock. He'd _told_ the brat he wanted to change the locks, maybe even move, long ago, when he'd first found out that Shuichi had given his friend a key, without even asking. He'd been pretty pissed about it, actually, even though he knew Mika and Tohma each had keys, and Tatsuha managed to get into the apartment despite the fact that Eiri was pretty sure he didn't have one. Still, he had never liked that Shuichi felt that he could just let his stupid friend barge into Eiri's home without so much as …

His therapist said he was jealous. What the fuck _ever_. As if he'd be jealous of … Well, he wasn't, that's all. Certainly not of a childhood friend. Certainly not of _Nakano. _Shuichi thought of the guy like a … brother, and Shuichi was dreadfully loyal—even if at times Eiri sometimes wondered if that was all Nakano felt also in return.

Loyal. Unwavering. One of Shuichi's defining traits. Without meaning to, Eiri smiled.

Over the months and years, things had settled, and Eiri could almost say he was ... happy. Even his novels had gotten noticeably ... happier, as his editor had put it, albeit less extreme. It had affected his fan base, a little--but positively, and more in terms of a demographic shift than anything. The median age had gone up by five years, and sales by 5 too. Eiri wasn't sure what that meant, but as long as his editor and publisher were satisfied, who was he to argue?

Yes, things had settled, and not the least of which was his relationship with Shuichi. It had taken a while, but Eiri had finally realized ...

Shuichi was never going to betray him, and never going to leave him. For many reasons, not the least of which was ...

Shuichi liked things to stay the same.

In his more cynical moments, Eiri wondered if Shuichi loved him more than he loved a lack of change, but he never thought about that too long, because it was silly.

Even so, there was no denying that Shuichi, for all his flamboyant ways, and for a kid that changed his hair colour more often than some people changed their shirts, was remarkably married to routine—and Eiri had once naively though that _he_ was a creature of habit.

Eiri remembered the one and only time he'd thought about moving to a new apartment—aside from when he'd found out Shuichi had given Nakano a key--once this—_thing_--he had with Shuichi didn't look like it was going to change, anytime soon. Yet Eiri had no more than suggested, merely _suggested_, looking at a new condo unit in a new building down the street that was bigger, with an extra room for Shuichi to use as a practice room, with security features and extra parking, than Shuichi started crying, big salty tears all the while wailing that "Yyyyuki wants me to be in a place so big he can't see me, you just want to lock me in a separate room, you don't want ..."

A well-timed kiss, followed by a nicely mind-blowing round of sex had quickly put an end to the ridiculousness, although somewhere in the middle of all that activity Eiri had found himself promising—at a time when his brain hadn't been receiving sufficient oxygen for it to have been a truly fair promise, he'd thought later—to never even consider moving out of the apartment that they called home ever, ever again. The tears had dried up mighty fast, too, thought Eiri, after that particular promise had been extracted--as they often did when Shuichi got his own way, yet again.

Then again, Shuichi got his own way, when he really wanted it, every damn time. The most annoying thing about it was the way that it made Eiri—well, he kind of actually liked seeing Shuichi get what he wanted, the brat was just so damned enthusiastically _joyful _half the time about stupid stuff that didn't really matter in the end and so Eiri found himself giving in, when he had never really meant to, more often than not. Eiri had never have thought himself the kind of man to be so weak. But he was.

Of course, he'd also never really thought himself the kind of man who would have a life that would, or could, contain anyone like Shuichi. But he did.

And so, he hadn't ever brought up moving again, even though he continued to wonder just how Shuichi could be happy with all his stuff jammed in the front hall closet, with his keyboard set up in a cramped corner of the living room, almost an hour's walk from the studio and a drive nearly as long in rush, and no room he could call his own. But Shuichi didn't even want to discuss moving, and so he'd let it go. Even though he wondered, and worried, just a little, that Shuichi wasn't entirely comfortable in an apartment Eiri had once bought only for himself and his needs, and that didn't come close to meeting the needs of another person's, and certainly not Shuichi's. Even while very secretly, secretly he was glad, because Eiri loved his apartment, loved every nook and cranny, and although he would have moved to for his lover's sake, he hadn't ever really wanted to.

And that was only one of the things—although it was one of the bigger things—Shuichi had refused to let Eiri change, even though everything else had.

Which was not to say that his daily life was anything but settled or static, what with that pink-haired brat around. Over the years, Shuichi had not matured at all, Eiri thought—it was as if the kid had gotten frozen at the emotional age of twelve.

Eiri pulled himself from his meandering thoughts, remembering what had disturbed him in the first place. Mostly because the voices coming from the bedroom had also gotten louder.

"We'll have to talk about some damage control too, who knows about … "

"No one. Well, Yuki called Tohma, and he sent a doctor …."

"Well, that's something. We'll have to have an ENT specialist down too, make sure your throat is fine … "

Shuichi's voice went up an octave. "No, I'm _fine_ K, really, I'm …." Eiri almost chuckled. The studio made Shuichi get checked out once a year as part of his contract, and every time he'd seen him the ENT the specialist had put some scoping camera device down Shuichi's throat, despite all of Shuichi's whining and tears. One of them had even tried, once, to insert the thing through Shu's nose. Eiri had to admit it had looked pretty damn uncomfortable, and over Shuichi's hand clutching protests Eiri had actually left the room, because it wasn't pleasant to watch and it was a waste of his time to stay and anyway, it wouldn't actually harm the brat …. Eiri was very glad no one had ever tried to come near him with such a device. He couldn't imagine any job being worth _that_.

"The insurers might want an updated medical assessment, if they find out about this, and we'll have to report it, the policy on your voice explicitly says …"

Eiri snorted. Bet they'd love to find out _how_ their golden goose ended up mugged as well, wouldn't they?

"Did they attack you right in the lobby, then? We might have to up security … or did that happen here? Maybe we should get you a bodyguard. Yeah, that's a …"

"What was that, Shu? You were _what_?" Nakano's voice, and as Eiri got closer, he could see Nakano, where he sat on the side of the bed, holding Shuichi's hand. Eiri had a wild urge to punch the guy. He had to remind himself, again, that Nakano was no competition—not to him, and _definitely_ not a threat. To anything. Right.

" … the insurance policy explicitly says ….! " Sakano sounded like he was hyperventilating, and much of what he was saying was garbled. "If they think you live a high risk lifestyle, they won't …"

Shuichi interrupted, voice high and desperate. Eiri could just _imagine_ how crazy a bodyguard would make him. To say nothing of the fact that _he _wouldn't allow it … although Shuichi would certainly be contrite and apologetic if he had to have one, even for a little while, and Eiri could get a lot of mileage out of that, and it _would_ ensure the brat would be forced to be more careful ….

" … and I'm really sorry, but I promise I'll come in tomorrow, and we could maybe go over some of the marketing stuff … I know it won't help much with the recording, but we could rehearse a little, and we could probably develop some of the new stuff …"

"What, brat? What could you do? Hiro, K, Sakano, nice of you to invite yourselves in." Eiri's smile was sharp, and not pleasant.

Shuichi gulped and looked, if possible, more upset. His voice was barely a whisper when he said, "I … I was just saying, maybe I could …"

"The world will not cave in if you don't go off and caterwaul with your rackety friends for a couple of days."

"Mr. Eiri! I would have you know that this band is highly respected and creates some of the most …"

"Yes, I'm sure that issues of Spicy Marmalade will deeply touch the fabric of the world for years to come. Now get out."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get out of my home."

K looked ready to shoot something, Sakano looked ready to have a meltdown, Nakano looked angry and Shuichi … Shuichi looked upset and exhausted, and there were lines of pain around his eyes. Eiri didn't care about the rest of them. They needed to leave, and Shuichi needed to rest, and they'd make sure they got to the private clinic tomorrow. Or he might get Tohma to send another doctor.

Eiri might never admit it aloud, but he was starting to get really scared.

* * *

_End of Chapter 3_


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